


Closer to God

by Mother_North



Series: The F1 series [3]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Power Play, Psychology, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: “Is this some kind of a twisted game?” asks Alain.“Just let me show you,” says Ayrton.
Relationships: Alain Prost/Ayrton Senna
Series: The F1 series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007253
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Closer to God

**Author's Note:**

> RPF disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and it is not meant to offend anyone. It is a product of author’s imagination only. All thoughts, actions and emotions described below have nothing to do with reality.

**

It’s difficult with Ayrton, and it’s definitely more than Alain has ever bargained for. The young man is hard to read and, moreover, he is getting hard to comprehend from time to time. It has to do with certain aspects of the otherworldly aura surrounding him: in his brooding countenance, contemplative air and wistfulness of his gaze – the uncalled for confessions he is willing to bestow upon Alain’s unsuspecting head.

“I’ve talked to God,” he confides one morning and Alain can only nod and smile, taken aback. He prays that he doesn’t come off as sympathetic or condescending, because it is something that he is totally not. Yet he can’t deny that he feels mildly concerned by Ayrton’s claim.

Several minutes pass before he loses a battle to his own curiosity.

“What do you exactly mean?”

Ayrton’s eyes are hooded and his long eyelashes are dark against the skin of his hollow cheeks. There’s a deep line between his knit eyebrows. He looks momentarily lost in thought, searching for words.

The pause is stretching and Alain begins regretting asking him. The question is too personal, too intimate, and their current relationships are that of highly competitive teammates and _nothing_ _more_ – to Alain’s greatest frustration. He would like Ayrton to open up to him more, but there’s an invisible barrier that is always there in between them. Alain is not the type of a person to fight for a breach in Ayrton’s defenses, he is not the one to invade his personal space for no particular reason, yet…it seems that right now he is doing exactly this.

“Why do you want to know?”

_Read: Are you planning to use the knowledge against me?_

Alain understands the hidden subtext of Ayrton’s retaliatory question; the strain in his voice, the way his eyes sparkle almost menacingly tell him.

He looks alert.

“…Because I would like to know you better. We are teammates. We are _one team,_ Ayrton,” Alain especially stresses out with his intonation. “You are free not to answer. I am not pushing you or anything…”

Ayrton laces his fingers together. The sharp features of his profile form a stark silhouette against the window of a motorhome. He doesn’t look at Alain as he finally starts speaking.

“He speaks to me. Sometimes…When I am behind the wheel… I am going further and further and suddenly I can feel His presence – at the back of my mind and I feel excitement and elation and fulfillment. Me and my car and Him we become one, like the Holy Trinity. He whispers “Go faster” and it is like a gust of a distant wind that ruffles my hair, an ephemeral touch of hand against my brow…”

Ayrton’s intense eyes turn misty and the dreamy expression on his face makes him look incomparably younger.

“And, all of a sudden, I just _know_ that He is there. Right there, with me.”

Alain gulps thickly. He is choosing his words carefully.

“I have to say that it’s really hard for me to truly understand you. I haven’t experienced anything like this, but I want to believe you.”

Ayrton slowly turns his face towards Alain and the intensity of his dark gaze reaches new levels; it’s scorching.

“Aren’t you ever tempted to go _beyond_? To have a single glimpse of what is _up there_? When you feel so light that you seemingly can fly high… The limit becomes blurred and then non-existent, and then…there’s only you and Him and the racing track and the roar of engine intermingled with His voice in your ears. You drive and drive and drive and you never ever want to stop.”

The candidness with which Ayrton is laying his soul bare frightens Alain, and he shifts from foot to foot nervously, suddenly feeling painfully small.

_Insignificant._

“And then it ends and you are snapped out of it; like a flash of light that passes by you at an incomprehensible speed. You can no longer see your racing car from the outside, you can no longer tunnel your consciousness into each corner and chicane, and hairpin – you stop being one with the car and just stop. _Everything stops_.”

The pained expression on Ayrton’s face speaks volumes to Alain: the regret and sorrow of an abandoned child whose parent has willingly chosen to leave him alone.

“You want to return to this feeling again and again, and a mere thought that one day I won’t be able to feel it makes me sick to the core. The day He takes his hand away from me will be my last one.”

It’s too much to grasp at once and a heavy sigh escapes Alain, as he is rubbing his temples.

“Nothing lasts forever, Ayrton,” says Alain when the strange conversation of theirs obviously comes to an end, Ayrton’s hand already hovering over the doorknob as he is aiming to get out of the motorhome.

“He has chosen me. Remember it.”

It is said quietly, but Alain feels deafened by it, nevertheless.

**

“What’s his secret?”

Ron is shaking his head, amazed, and Alain only smiles pensively in return.

Ayrton managed to pull out a miraculous qualifying lap out of his sleeve once again.

To Alain Ayrton is an enigma. He possesses an unrivalled intensity and a charm that draws you in. The unshakeable belief that he was born for greatness is rooted deeply in him and his wholehearted commitment helps bringing him further than others.

Alain thinks of a qualifying session in _Monaco, 1988_ , and the dots in his mind connect: the mystical experience Ayrton has told him about in such a vivid fashion suddenly becoming a bit clearer – not easier to get or to relate to, by any means, but now Alain understands that it has been a perfect illustration of what Ayrton was talking about.

“I don’t know,” says Alain honestly.

The telemetry they are currently studying with Ron doesn’t answer that question either.

**

It’s late when Alain finally returns to his hotel room, and to his compete surprise, there’s Ayrton waiting for him, crouched in the shadows near the doorway.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Alain lets him in without a word and closes the door behind the two of them. Unexplainable apprehension is coiling in his stomach and he can sense the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.

Ayrton’s gaze is hypnotizing and he feels like a rabbit in front of a cobra.

“Do you want something?”

“Yes.”

Ayrton’s answer is simple, but the expression on his face is not – for a moment or two he seems deeply conflicted.

“I want to show you…so that you would see what it’s like...”

Alain blinks a couple of times in confusion.

“It’s about our conversation this morning…I want you to understand what it’s like, to get a feel for yourself.”

Ayrton’s vague attempt at explaining only bewilders Alain further, and the expectancy with which he is looking at him doesn’t help either: as if Ayrton is waiting for some kind of a permission from him. It makes heart in Alain’s ribcage race, and his palms are sweating profusely.

“Hmm…fine,” he mumbles, struggling to conceal the nervousness in his slightly trembling voice.

The first touch of Ayrton’s fingertips to his jaw burns. The grip is gentle but _the intent_ is right there, from the very beginning – the kiss still comes as a shock, and it seems to Alain that he is drowning. He gasps into Ayrton’s demanding mouth, suffocating, hands grasping at his shoulders.

What they are doing is plain wrong and he is sure he’d regret it bitterly not once, but he can’t bite back a breathless moan when Ayrton pushes him against the wall harshly. The feeling of helplessness and the impending surrender intoxicate, and Alain senses the room start swirling around him.

The powerful rush of adrenaline and arousal sweeps over him, as he is struggling to find something to ground him back into reality.

Ayrton’s palms close around his windpipe, squeezing out vestiges of life-giving oxygen from his constricting lungs, and bright dots are dancing in front of his darkening vision.

He can read rapture on Ayrton’s reclining face, and it seems uncannily _beautiful_ in its own weird way.

“Just let me show you, Alain,” implores Ayrton, loosening his grip around Alain’s throat.

This time the kiss is bruising; then, Ayrton’s mouth finds its way to his protruding clavicle, leaving a wet trail at its wake – over his neck and pulse point. Alain’s heart is beating frantically, and it seems obnoxiously loud against his temples.

“Please…”

Even Alain himself is not entirely sure what exactly he is asking for – for Ayrton to stop or to continue.

When Ayrton’s nimble fingers unbutton his jeans, Alain realizes he is already half-hard. His knees buckle as Ayrton’s hot mouth wraps around him. The pleasure is blinding and it pierces through him, setting his nerve endings aflame. Alain buries his fingers in Ayrton’s thick curls, pushing his head down harder, unable to think at all, as he is losing himself in the divine heat.

“Oh, God…” he moans obscenely loud and it’s utterly insane. He thinks he can _sense_ Ayrton _smiling_.

He comes embarrassingly fast, a droplet of his semen glistening against Ayrton’s smooth chin, making him look like a debauched angel.

He looks up at Alain with half-lidded eyes, and there’s a wicked, triumphant gleam in his black pupils.

Alain slides down to the floor, unable to stand. He is too overwhelmed by everything that has just occurred between them and thoughts are running amok in his mind.

_Is this some kind of a twisted game?_

Ayrton brushes a disheveled lock of hair from Alain’s forehead in a semblance of caress.

“Did you feel _it_?”

It’s difficult to think straight, not to mention – to string words together. Alain is still high, his whole body vibrating with the aftershocks of his powerful release.

“You are mad,” he croaks and gets another mysterious smile from Ayrton in response.

Alain is momentarily overcome with a desire to be touched, to feel Ayrton’s arms around him, to be engulfed by the warmth of his body. The need to have _more_ of him is scary in its intensity and Alain shivers.

He is not afraid of Ayrton, he is frightened by the sheer force of hunger that Ayrton is able to instill in him.

“Yes, yes…” he mindlessly chants over and over. “And I want more…”

Ayrton’s happy laughter resonates through Alain’s each cell and he realizes that he has indeed found God.

Right here.

In his very arms.

**


End file.
